A study in light
by DixieGrayson
Summary: After being abandoned on a doorstep John lives his life as a spy, at 15 he is injured in action and made invalid to MI9, what happens when his new foster father is Sherlock Holmes...and what secrets will this case uncover. T for paranoia, No slash. better than summary sounds. First Sherlock fic, yayz


**A/N: young justice writer Dixie G here, so if ya know me that's asterous, if ya don't (and/or) have never gone YJ style before, its awesome meeting you. so yeah, I'm a long time Cumberbitch who finally decided to write a Sherlock fic. so yeah this little bunny wouldn't hop off, so my apologies. Its a drama comedy thing, with the occasional song (if you hate musicals just try skipping it). So this is a study in pink, in my little AU. Un-beta'd, written from memory of a study in punk**

**Disclaimer: I don't even own a cardboard box**

* * *

John tosses and turns in his sleep as he dreams the hellish nightmare of his time in MI9 (children's department). He was taken in at the age of three weeks old when his mother abandoned him. When he reached five years of age his training began. His trainer was the head of the organisation, the almighty Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft taught John all he needed to know. Undercover training, hacking, how to fight and perhaps the thing john enjoyed the most, medical training. The man almost became like a father to young John, but Mycroft would never let it get that far, instead he became much like an uncle. He was, and still is the baby of the British secret service. But all good things must come to an end and at the age of 7 John was deposited on missions around the globe, sometimes not returning 'home' for years at a time. His latest mission was as an undercover agent in Afghanistan. He was 14 years old, and the mission was suppose to last 2 years, but it was cut short by one single action. And it is that action that John dreams about tonight. He dreams about the night he was shot.

15 year old John sits up in bed, shaking, crying and screaming. He hears footsteps running down the outside corridor and is temporarily blinded by the lights being switched on in his quarters. He feels familiar arms wrap around him, and a familiar voice soothing him. He's gently rocked back and fourth in his 'uncles' arms until his heart breaking cries become small hiccups and sobs. "there there john. It's okay i'm here". Young John looks up at Mycroft and whipes his eyes. "I'm sorry for waking you sir". The elder sighs and pulls the boy closer "It's okay, it is only to be expected from someone in your condition, PTSD changes the strongest men, let alone teenage boys". Johns shaking increases, Mycroft runs his hand over his face, he is definitely going to lose 'the ice-man' title after this...maybe a piece of cake will ease the pain. "Come on grab your cane". The eldest homes stands up and hands a single crutch to the young boy. "Please don't call it a cane" John admonishes before he's standing and leaning on the metal It makes me sound old". Mycroft goes to hold the younger up. "I don't need help sir, I am perfectly capeable". Mycroft gives John a scolding look. "now is that youy or the trust issues talking?". John glares at the man as they walk into the corridor. Mycroft checks his pocket watch, 6:00am, he needs more sleep. "Hows the blog going John?" John sighs, not this lecture again. "I told you sir, I can't write one sir". The 'ice-man looks at the boy incredulously "All you do is write about what happens to you john". John looks at Mycroft with dispear in his eyes. "But that's the problem sir...nothing happens to me anymore".

* * *

**3 suicides later...**

The police conference room is packed with flashing cameras and scoop hungry press. With every new question the press come up with D.I Lestrade is quick of the mark with confident but slightly cryptic answers. It was going so well until a every phone in the rooms message tone sounded. All eyes looked to their own screens, each read the same thing 'wrong'. After many attempts at answering questions with the same out come, Lestrade and Donovan walk out, one in more of a huff than the other. Lestrade once again stares at his phone, but more importantly he stares at the message on the screen 'you know where to find me -SH'. As another argument sparks up with Sally he sighs, this is going to be a long day.

* * *

**In a London park**

"John". The young boy keeps walking, crutch holding him up. "John!" John turns around to face whoever is calling him. He searches the crowed but doesn't recognise anyone. A man walks over to John and holds his hand out "The names Mike, Mike Stamford, I'm in charge of finding you a new home." John feels his jaw stiffen as he shakes the other mans hand "I don't want a new home, I'm fine were I am". John stares at the man hard. "Look lets grab something to eat and let me at least introduce you to someone okay?". John breaks off the glare "fine".

10 minutes later they're sitting back in the park on an old bench. Mike with a coffee and John with a chocolate milkshake. "Last thing I heard about Britain's top child spy he was in some foreign country getting shot at...so what happened?" John smiles slightly. "I got shot" Mikes eyes suddenly widen, and he attempts to change the subject. "so couldn't decide on a full name then?" John shakes his head "MI9 simply named me John, I see no need in changing that. I mean it's not like I need a last name". Mike smirks you sounded just like him for a second". "Who?" Mikes smile widens "The guy you'll be staying with".

* * *

The morgue at St. Bart's

Molly Hooper runs out to get coffee, just rushing past Mike, with John hiding behind him. Sherlock's to lost in his own thoughts to notice them. 'Why is She not getting the message, I only ever loved Harriet...I only ever will'. Out of the corner of his eye Sherlock spots Mike "Mike can I borrow your phone". Mike smiles as John hides behind Mike further. "Sorry I lost mine, John do you have one?" For the first time Sherlock looks up, as Mike pulls John out from behind him. John glares up at mike "Why would I need one, It's not like I have friends?", Sherlock smiles. "MI9 or MI8?". Johns eyes widen. Mikes smile falls "Don't do this to John Sherlock he's got a few...troubles". Sherlock looks back down his microscope. "I would hardly call PTSD, loss of appetite, night terrors, trust issues and a psychosomatic limp a few troubles Mike." Johns eyes widen further. "I play the violin?" Johns looks confused then up to Mike. "what? If its compulsory I foster you, you might as well be in a place you like, oh sorry got to dash, left my riding crop in the morgue". Sherlock goes to walk out. Unfortunately John can't keep quiet any longer. "That's it? You know nothing about me Yet you are going to foster me?". Sherlock internally groans, why is this kid so inquisitive? "I know you were abandoned before you were even a month old by your mother, sustained injury in action, have a teddy given to you when you started training and you have a recent addiction to milkshakes. enough to be going on don't you think? I'll email you the address Mike, have a nice day". And with that he leaves, leaving john, totally non-plused.

* * *

**The next day, 221B Baker street**

A non-descript black car pulls up and out hops John. In a red and black striped woolly jumper (Sherlock notes how its slightly to big), chinos and a pair of converse. Sherlock opens his door and sees the brown case in the boys hands. He obviously doesn't own many possessions. John clambers out the car using his crutch to help him stand. "Good morning sir" Sherlock smiles. "Its Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes" When he looks at the boy, Sherlock can't help but find the child familiar, but one point of the boy is so familiar, Sherlock doesn't even recognise it. The boys eyes.

As they enter the cosy little flat. John smiles "when we tidy it, it could be pretty cool". Sherlock's face falls "I tidied it before you came". John sits down "...shit". They hear a tray drop and turn around, Mrs Hudson stands in shock "Such language from a young man. "Ah john, Mrs Hudson, my landlady. Mrs Hudson This is John he's my temporary foster son". "that's right" John smiles "I'm back in action ne day". Sherlock frowns "not with that limp your not". Sherlock watches John shake. "What about these suicides Sherlock, thought that would be right up your street three the same-" "four". Mrs Hudson and Johns heads snap up "four?" "yes john". They hear a man running up the stairs "Where?" Lestrade looks agitated. "Brixton". Sherlock ponders "what's different, you wouldn't come to me if there wasn't anything different?". "You know they never leave notes?" Sherlock nods "This one did". Sherlock's eyes begin to sparkle, as john looks between the D.I and consulting detective like watching a tennis match. "who's on forensics?" "Anderson" "he wont work with me" "well he wont be your assistant!" "I need an assistant!" Lestrade looks like he's pleading "Will you come?" "Fine, go I'll take a taxi". After the intruders leave Sherlock starts jumping around smiling. "3 suicides and now one leaves a note its like Christmas." Ms Hudson smiles "I'm going to need dinner!" Mrs Hudson glares "just this once dear im not your house keeper". "something cold will do, John make yourself at home!". And with that he's gone. John just stares at the empty doorway. Mrs Hudson pats his shoulder. "don't worry dear, you rest your leg, I'll make you some cookies." "damn my leg!" Johns sudden outburst is interrupted by his guilt. "I am so sorry it just gets to me sometimes". "Its okay dear I've got a hip, I'll make them cookies" "and a milkshake to if you don't mind". "not your house keeper". And with that she's gone. John suddenly notices Sherlock back in the doorway. "your an agent, not just that, your a medically trained agent". John uses his crutch to pull him self to an attention position. "yes sir". "seen a lot of injuries, violent deaths" "by the age of 6" "bit of trouble to I bet" "yes far to much, for a short life time like my own" "...want to see some more?" "oh god yes". With that John grabs his Ipod and headphones "I'll have the cookies when I get back Mrs H" John smiles as Sherlock helps him hurry down the stairs. "look at you it's not decent". Sherlock smiles "Who cares about decent, the game Mrs Hudson, Is on". And with that, they leave

* * *

**you likey? Then reviewey! But not to harsh please :)**

**Dixie G**


End file.
